


Foisted Partnership

by foxyk



Series: Tales of the Tiger Tamer [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxyk/pseuds/foxyk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events in Metropolis force Batman and Superman to work together.</p><p>This should go smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay I managed to write a thing! Then I conned TheLiterator into betaing it, now I'm conning you into reading it! Woo!

Dick Grayson was many things.

A circus brat. A billionaire's ward. A vigilante. A Mathlete. _Asleep during the Mathlete bus hijacking._

“I found the kid, boss!” Dick was shaken awake when a foul smelling man in a leather jacket grabbed the front of his red hoodie and hauled him off of the blue pleather seat.

Dick had barely been back in the pixie boots for a week before the Mathletes competition in Metropolis, and Harley Quinn had just been put back into her padded cell in Arkham by Batman and Robin the night before, so while his classmates were quizzing each other with flashcards, he had been catching up on his sleep debt. Or at least that had been his plan.

“Are you sure? All these kids look pretty well-off…” An uncertain voice called from the front of the bus.

“This is the Gotham Academy bus, of course we look well-off.” A prim voice retorted. Dick bit his cheek to keep from telling off Cynthia Adams at the front of the bus; his Robin voice would probably be the only thing she’d heed and that was pretty well a death sentence for him.

“Okay kid, off the bus, we’ll keep your friends company,” The odorous man promised, serving Dick out the back of the bus through the emergency exit to a _group_ of his cohorts. Dick huffed as his arms were bound, Bruce was never going to forgive him.

*

Dick was tied to a chair in his tee shirt and boxers. When they’d started cutting fabric off him, he had been… alarmed, to say the least, but once they’d taken off enough to do a quick trackers search, they simply bound him and left the room. 

It was cold-- winter in Metropolis wasn’t a warm affair-- but it was clear that he was a few rooms removed from having outside access. The floor of the room was concrete and the walls were cinderblock, no windows, but if he had to guess, there was probably quite a bit of lead in the walls. He thought of the tracker injected under his arm, but didn’t hold out a lot of hope for it reaching a tower. Bruce was in Gotham, under the assumption Dick was headed to a perfectly normal mathletes tournament. It would probably be hours before he even started to search.

Dick was completely alone.

He banished the thought, focusing on details. The bus had been about to enter Metropolis so it had probably been five pm, meaning that in less than two hours it would be dark. Bruce wasn’t going to be able to make the event, but he was bound to check up on Dick using security cameras, and the school couldn’t put off calling him _too long_ so it wasn’t going to be long before Batman came for him.

The steel door swung open with a groan, the hinges not quite up to the weight of it. Dick tried to figure out what that meant about the building’s construction, but then there was a covered metal cart being pushed into the room followed by three men. Immediately, Dick assessed the men: a left handed enforcer with a knife in his boot and three pistols, a right handed heavy hitter with an affinity for batons and bats, and the boss. The boss was a righty with a bad knee, at least two pistols, a previously broken jaw, and a butterfly knife he was currently swinging around.

Ooh, scary. A butterfly knife. Dick was shaking in his pixie boots. He actually was shaking a little, tied barefoot to the chair in this chilly room, but he wasn’t going to let these guys see that.

“If you let me go now, my dad won’t press charges.” Dick told the heavy hitter.

“He’s not in charge here, and neither are you.” Butterfly knife laughed.

“Why am I here? Who are you?” Dick asked.

“You can go free if you just answer one little question,” Butterfly knife leered with a Serbian accent. When he leaned closer, Dick could smell the European cigarettes on his clothes.

“Your question?” Dick asked, keeping the spoiled rich boy charade up.

_“Who is Batman?”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I hope you guys enjoy ^^

Clark hated taking the train home, it was crowded and everyone was too loud. After a day of precariously balancing saving lives and reporting the news he was exhausted, it was hot, and he just wanted to fly home and stop _thinking_.

Not even an hour had passed since he’d saved a Gotham School Bus, and even though the bus was no longer hanging off a Metropolis bridge on fire, he still felt like crap knowing they hadn’t found all the kids yet. Since there was nothing he could do at the scene and even less he could do at work, Clark was heading home for a dinner date with leftovers and a new recorded episode of Dancing With the Stars.

He was certain of his plans until he had his key out and was walking up to his apartment’s door, but the action was interrupted by the blaring of Jimmy’s signal watch. With a longing look at the wooden portal to pad thai and reality TV, Clark zoomed up the stairs to the roof and made record time to the signal, which was on the roof of a building three blocks away. The watch was hanging from the building’s roof access door, pinned in place by a _batarang._

Clark ripped the little piece of metal off the door, catching the paper it was also holding before it hit the ground.

“I know we’ve had our differences but we need to talk, Gotham criminals in Metropolis is good for no one. -B” Clark resisted the urge to crumple the note or the batarang and took a calming breath. This could be a good thing, Oliver and Barry both spoke highly of Batman, maybe this could be a good opportunity to start fresh.

“What makes you think there are Gotham criminals in Metropolis?” He asked, raising his voice a little, certain that Batman would hear him.

“The Mathletes bus, from Gotham Academy. The missing student, the one they won’t name? It’s Richard Grayson.” Batman stepped up over the edge of the fire escape he’d apparently been crouching on two buildings over.

Clark’s stomach dropped, “You don’t think--”

“Someone has picked up a tie to Wayne Industries in my gear, and they believe that Bruce Wayne knows my identity. They’ve either picked up Richard Grayson to force Bruce’s hand, or because they think Richard knows.” Batman picked his way across the rooftops in the golden evening sunshine of Metropolis like a black cat wishing for a shadow.

The light didn’t make the Batsuit less impressive, in fact it intensified the effect, showing the leather on canvas texture of the stab panels and armored plating, the slick shiny silk of the cape’s interior as it trailed behind him, obscuring his footprints and muffling his footsteps. Even the cowl with its dead white eyes was more intense in the light.

“He told me to call him Dick.” Clark corrected when Batman had cleared the second alleyway, standing on the same roof now.

“Maybe that can be the first line of his eulogy, unless you’d prefer to get to work?” Batman sniped. Clark bristled immediately but the light didn’t only make it so Clark could see the suit more clearly, he saw the tightness in Batman’s jaw, heard the elevated heartbeat, saw the restless shift from toe to heel, foot to foot. Everything he’d heard about Batman from every hero he’d worked with and every person he’d saved was that Batman was stoic or angry. He wasn’t a demonstrative figure. Clark took in the signs of stress and relaxed for them both; they needed to find Dick, not fight on a rooftop.

“What’s the timetable look like?” Clark asked, silently making a deal with himself to not fight with Batman. Starting fresh. He got a quizzical head tilt in response, but then a tablet computer was produced from practically nowhere.

“They have had him just about an hour, and I believe they’re going to try for information extraction before the press gets wind that the boy is missing. This dot is the last ping on Grayson’s phone, and this here,” He pointed at another red dot a few blocks away, “Was the last ping on his subdural tracker. There’s apparently a series of connected buildings from the prohibition, the depth of the buildings and the relative size of the tracker means they’re most likely underground still.”

“A subdural tracker? That’s weird.” Clark didn’t see anything of note about those particular buildings.

“Though clearly not unwarranted.” Batman deadpanned.

“Wait did you say information extraction?” Clark looked up, locking eyes with the white soulless lenses of the cowl. With the ambient light he could just barely see through the lenses without x-ray vision. Batman’s eyes were light in color and squinted like Clark was a dog he was attempting to teach how to read. 

“Yes. And I have reason to believe that while they’re probably not expecting me until the news releases Grayson’s name, which means we need to act now.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Clark handed back the tablet and held out a hand to Batman.

“You expect to… carry me?” Batman asked when he’d tucked the tablet back away.

“Can you think of a faster way?”

Batman paused longer than was probably strictly necessary then took Clark’s hand, “Let’s go.”

***

Dick barely reigned in his laughter before he hit hysterics.

“Bro, Batman isn't real! He's an urban legend!”

“I have photographs of the Batman, I've spoken with the thieves he's beaten in alleys.” Butterfly knife man started swinging the knife open and closed.

“Costumers, wannabes, there are pictures of the Loch Ness Monster but I don’t see any Scotsmen in here tied to chairs.” Dick forced himself to stop following the motions of the men pacing behind him as he kept the rich boy facade up. It was exhausting and he was bound too well to escape while they were in the room.

“The Loch Ness Monster isn’t bad for business. The Batman is.” Butterfly Knife gestured to the other two men with a grin.

“The tabloids made him up, I'm serious! The police use the name to keep the superstitious criminals away.” Dick had a feeling that no matter how much he hated this now, he was going to hate it a lot worse before Batman showed up.

“Does this look superstitious?” Butterfly Knife stowed his blade and accepted a padded mailer from the left handed enforcer, wiggling a Batarang out into his palm.

“Maybe? What is it?” Dick screwed up his eyebrows to look confused.

“It is a specialized throwing knife. It looks like metal, but it is much lighter, a material produced by Waynetech.” Butterfly Knife was moving closer to Dick as he spoke, and Dick allowed himself to yelp and jump when the man slammed the Batarang down against the chair, embedding the sharp corner into the wood between his legs. “I find it hard to believe that a material only produced one place gets turned into knives for a vigilante without the company’s knowledge.” He growled, leaving the Batarang and pacing away.

“The designs could have been stolen, and even if it was made by Waynetech, the police use the Batman Myth as a way to keep crime down. The commissioner could have requested some to spread among the crime families and stir up some fear. I don’t know, I don’t work there.”

“Boss, the surprise is set, it’s time to move.” A woman peeked in, “You need help leaving the clue?”

“No.” Butterfly Knife sighed at Dick, “You coulda prevented this, but you played dumb.” He picked up the batarang with a smile, “This’ll only hurt a lot.”


	3. Chapter 3

Superman had mentioned no fewer than four times in the last half hour that he hadn’t realized that there was an extensive tunnel system connecting to the sewers of Metropolis. He was trying to start conversation, Batman recognized it from Robin’s attempts to do the same, but unlike with Robin, he felt no inclination to humor him. 

Superman wasn’t his partner. 

_Superman_ was the reason his partner was missing.

Batman turned down another corridor with a barely-contained growl. Despite the fact that he had the rough map the batcomputer had been able to piece together from archival building plans pulled up on his HUD, they had run into three dead ends already and without an actual map-- like his own detailed surveys of Gotham’s sewers-- he was stuck guessing to find a path to take him to a place that may not exist while _kidnappers_ had _Robin._ He paused at the mouth of a tunnel and looked at Superman.

“It goes through to a lead door.” The hero said. He sounded nervous.

It served him right.

Batman huffed and jogged toward the door, ready to mark this one down as a dead end and move on. He was pulling on the door handle when he heard Superman call out a warning.

“Wait stop, I smell--”

The world shook and the last thing Bruce remembered was fire.

***

Clark blinked away the light-blindness of the flash, unable to see clearly in the small area for far too long to feel comfortable. Thankfully Batman had flung his cape up when the door had opened; the thick material was made of something Clark had never seen and had protected him well against burns.

It had protected less well against the wall his head had smacked against, Clark realized when he finally spotted the crumpled vigilante.

“Batman?” Clark asked, feeling a bit helpless as his voice echoed in his own skull; he had no idea at what volume he was speaking.

“Robin. Report.” Batman coughed. He moved to sit up but decided against it, lying back flat again.

“Robin isn’t here, you’re in Metropolis.” Clark hoped he wasn’t shouting.

“I was... seeing if I could connect to the cave. I think we’re um... too deep.” Batman sounded less certain than Clark had ever heard him.

“Yeah, we’re still in the sewers.” Clark agreed, the ringing in his ears muting to an acceptable level.

“I hate your sewers.” Batman sat up slowly, stopping once he was sitting tailor-style.

“I find I’m not overly fond.” Clark wrinkled his nose, hoping for a laugh.

Batman didn’t laugh.

Instead, Batman vomited, barely changing positions onto his hands and knees fast enough to keep it from ending up in his lap. when he was done, he lay down on his belly just far enough away to keep from lying in it.

“I hate getting blown up.” Batman mumbled against the gauntlet he was using to pillow his face.

“We should stay here for a bit, maybe get a doctor?” Clark had no idea what he was supposed to do, but head injuries were bad news, there were stories coming out all the time about the dangers involved.

“No time.” Batman huffed, standing up against all odds. His steps were uneven but sure, the purposeful stride replaced by a cautious sort of ambling. It wasn't until Batman was through the blown-out doorway that Clark even thought to offer assistance.

“I could carry you,” he suggested, following the vigilante down the dark hallway.

“You are capable of that, yes.” Batman deadpanned, stopping dead halfway into the first open doorway. Clark peered around him and half wished he hadn't.

Smeared on the floor was a huge Bat, the tinny nickel smell only cementing the fact that it was painted in blood.

“It isn't dry yet, they're not far ahead of us.” Batman said, kneeling at the edge with a swab, dabbing at the tacky blood. He did something that made his gauntlet open and inserted the sample.

“What are you--”

“It's Grayson's blood type, I don't have DNA sequencing available, but it's most likely his blood.” Batman interrupted, standing again a bit more easily. “He would have been restrained, but there are no chain points and no furniture in this room, we're looking for a chair or table in a room with a locking door.

“Why do you say that?” Clark asked, eyeing the grisly painting again.

“This was clearly put here to implicate me in Richard Grayson's kidnapping, but if they left him unchained in an unlocked room for more than 30 seconds, Richard Grayson would have escaped.” Batman reasoned, leaning against the wall almost casually.

“How do you know that? And why should I believe you? You show up in Metropolis on the day that a rich kid from your city happens to have been kidnapped and now your favorite shape is drawn on the floor of a secret passage off the sewers in his blood? Implicate is a bit weak of a word.” Clark couldn't tell how much blood it would take to make the design but it was nearly six feet across.

“The liquid is spread thin and yet it's still wet, this had to have been done while we were together, how--”

“Accomplices.” Clark cut him off, feeling a little thrill of payback as he did.The thrill died down as Batman sat down in a disjointed motion, like all of his limbs decided to work independently of each other. Batman rubbed the back of his cowl, hanging his head as he arranged himself more comfortably. Clark wanted to ask if he was okay, but he didn't know what to say. 

“Do you really want to know why I was in Metropolis today?” Batman asked, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Clark leapt on the opportunity.

Batman hooked his fingers into the cowl, pulling it back and off to hang like a hood on his shoulders. Clark stared as the vigilante scratched his gloved hands through his hair. Clark recognized that normally immaculate black hair, even sweaty and standing on end. He stared at the face he knew and had absolutely no words.

Bruce Wayne shrugged and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Dick’s Mathlete tournament was today. I was going to surprise him and watch.”

“If you're… that means…” Clark felt his brain short circuit.

“Dick Grayson is Robin.” Bruce confirmed, “And I'd really like to find my ward.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing, I promise!

Flash trusted Superman.

Green Arrow trusted Superman.

Batman would never admit he trusted Flash _or_ Green Arrow, but Dick had spent time alone in both the Allen and Queen houses. Bruce had invited them into his home, Batman had let them into the cave. Even the glowing green idiot from Coast City trusted Superman.

Superman had trusted Batman until about twelve seconds ago.

Dick was still in danger and now Bruce was stuck in a room with a giant Batsymbol made from _his son’s blood_ and an angry, godlike alien convinced he did it.

They didn’t have _time_ for this. The room twisted and contorted before it restabilized, bile crawling up Bruce’s throat. He didn’t have time for _that_ either.

He more fell than sat down, but he didn’t pass out, and small miracles were… something. He rubbed the back of his head to buy time. Bruce Wayne was going to need to make a press statement about Dick Grayson, Batman was going to need to find Robin, the posed crime scene needed to be taken care of, Bruce needed to not vomit again. He swallowed hard and looked up at Superman, decision made. 

“Do you really want to know why I was in Metropolis today?”

###

Dick had lost some time during the car ride, but it was late. Bruce was late.

His captors were watching television while he was passed out, but it wouldn’t be long before Butterfly Knife-- known to this crowd as Vasily-- returned from the meeting he’d bowed out for. From what Dick could tell, this was a motley group of low-end criminals from various crime families and backgrounds in a new underground crime ring of some kind, all united by a leader convinced that Bruce Wayne was the key to Batman. In a way it was almost funny, but Dick worried that if he laughed he’d pull the hasty stitches which had been administered painfully by a panicked young Irish man after Dick had pretended to pass out the first time in the van. They assumed blood loss and cinched shut the jagged gash in his side that Vasily had slowly sawed open to ‘decorate’ with. 

The nice thing about being Dick Grayson and not Robin was that he didn’t have to hold back his instinct to scream.

He twisted his swollen hands in their binding again, keeping his body as lax as possible while he pulled and twisted, trying to gain any leverage. Even if he got his hands free, he wasn’t sure he’d have enough control to untie his legs (the broken fingers wouldn’t help much either), and he wasn’t sure the chair would break if he knocked it over, but he had to do _something_.

“I just want to know he’s okay, please. If you have any information about the whereabouts of Richard Grayson--” The channel changed on the TV, then changed again to avoid a commercial.

Bruce was on TV.

Bruce was being Bruce Wayne.

Batman wasn’t coming yet.

Vasily opened the door with the smile of a returning conquerer, holding up a pair of two gallon jugs filled with water. “Let’s get this party started again!” He laughed, tossing a towel to the man who’d stitched Dick up.

Batman would come.

“Stop!” Dick yelled as his head was yanked back, “Why are you doing this!” The towel obscured his vision, flooding his nose with the smell of cheap fabric softener. “Batman doesn’t exist you crazy lunatic!” 

Batman would come.

Water permeated the towel, pouring into his mouth and nose as he fought to turn his head, to avoid the feeling of drowning.

Was Batman coming?

###

“I look ridiculous.” Clark said, barely able to look at his reflection in the darkened storefront on a small backstreet in Gotham.

“Hardly sir, now if you would pay attention to the contents of each pouch?”

“Batarangs, smoke pellets, shark repellant? I can’t even be injured by--”

“Though it would undoubtedly be embarrassing if you reached for what you assume to be smoke pellets and instead only succeed in driving King Shark away.” Chided Batman’s… butler--- because of course Batman had a butler-- over the comm system.

“Cut the radio chatter and corner the snitch, please.” A strange mixture of Brucie and the Bat cut in.

“How do I do that, there are like eight guys in that alley,” Clark winced at the whine in his own voice.

“Go to the roof of the next building and fall to the ground in the middle of them. You’ll be falling from a greater height than I do so try not to break the kneepads. These are cowards, if anyone swings at you just kick near them or hit them with the cape, they’ll run away. The last one standing will be the snitch.”

“This is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Mister Kent if I may, the life of a child whom I hold very dear is at stake, and if your dithering should cause him any undue distress--”

“Fine, I’m going!” Clark cut off the polite threat of the scarily capable butler and half flew half climbed the fire escape to the roof. He stood at the edge and looked down at the gathering of unwashed men, laughing and bantering behind the bar.

Showtime.

He flared the heavy cape wide and stepped off the building, pleased to see the winged silhouette shadowed in the moonlight on the ground before he landed with just enough sound to hide the fact that he was mostly floating. The cape smacked heavy behind him, echoing in the new, awed silence.

“Shit man, the Bat!”

“I ain’t got time to do another stint!” The men scattered like rats from a sinking ship as he stood, the computer system circling one particularly greasy man in red, standing still despite noticeable cringing.

“Listen, Mister Man, um Mister Bat, um Batman? Sir? Listen I don’t know nothin’ about no drugs this time man, you gotta believe… me?” The man cowered and stammered as Clark stepped forward, his skin crawling as the borrowed uniform bled darkness into the tight alley, the heavy cape dragging with soft menace against the asphalt.

“Human Trafficking.” Bruce’s voice came over the comm. Clark remembered the neat row of cages too big for dogs, the room with a row of beds all fitted with restraints. Batman had stayed put as Clark explored the subterranean complex, but he hadn’t been nearly as surprised by the findings as Clark had.

“We’ll talk about the drug trade later. Tell me about human traffickers.” Clark’s affected growl came too easily in the shadows of Gotham, with the anger of unknown atrocities plaguing his own city resting uneasily in his gut.

“Man, I don’t have that kind of connection, I’m just a low level--”

“Push him against the wall, but don’t break anything.” The voice on the other end of the comm was too violent to be anything but the Bat. Clark hesitated while the man continued to explain how he didn’t have the information. Something was wrong though, his heartbeat wasn’t normalizing, it was speeding up. The man was either more terrified of Batman than Clark had assumed, or he was _lying_. Clark carefully took a handful of the snitch’s filthy shirt-- suddenly grateful for the gloves-- and shoved him against the wall just hard enough to knock the air out of him, effectively shutting him up. 

“Where are they?” he growled, a bit louder than he expected, a bit more angry than he’d like. If he was honest, a bit more angry than he’d expected.

“Well maybe uh, maybe you heard it from somewhere else that there’s been noise about a buncha weirdos under the old city hall building making noise about um…” The man trailed off, pushing back against the wall and avoiding the white eyed gaze of the mask.

“Talking about what.” Bruce and Clark asked in tandem.

“About bat hunting?” The fear in the man’s voice snapped Clark back to reality, standing in a dirty alley holding a man against a wet brick wall.

“Keep your nose clean.” He huffed, releasing the man’s shirt and turning in a move he hoped was showy and controlled enough to pass for Batman, slinking back down the alley, vaulting to a nearby roof when he was out of eyesight. “So how do I open the map on this thing?” he asked over the comm, playing with the gauntlet he knew had some kind of computer… thing in it.

“Just take a left on Century and follow it to Old Gotham, Agent A can walk you through it from there, I have to go on now.” Bruce huffed.

“Simply let me know when you make the leap into Uptown, sir,” Alfred chimed in, polite and British as ever.

Taking on unknown assailants, in an unfamiliar place, using the name and gear of another man. 

What could go wrong?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, an update!
> 
> Many thanks to WithASideOfAngst for troubleshooting, and TheLiterator for being an awesome beta ^_^

“Remember, you have to make it realistic, you can’t just stop fighting all at once.” Bruce’s voice came to him from three feet behind, two to the right. He’d been practicing triangulating sound all week, and it was coming more naturally than he’d ever expected. “You have to feel it out, it will take a different amount of fight for different opponents.”

“I can do it.” Dick huffed, attacking the soundless place he was certain Bruce had moved to. He was rewarded with a grunt and a heavy clack of a quarterstaff blocking his.

“I never said you couldn’t,” Bruce chuckled, the sound moving through the room like water. It was a sound that terrified the Gotham underworld, but Dick Grayson wasn’t afraid of anything. “It’ll take some time, but I’ll set up a simulation, if you’re that insistent.”

Dick swallowed hard, using a feint to hide the motion. He wasn’t afraid of anything, except maybe failing.

***

“You can’t be serious, Master Bruce.” Alfred was livid, his neat clipped received pronunciation sliding into something that belonged in the back alleys... or a battlefield, it was easy to forget the man’s service to his country when he was providing turndown service.

He didn’t seem very likely to be tucking Bruce in for the foreseeable future, and Dick figured his chances were pretty low too, based on the look he was getting.

“It’s important training, he should know what it will feel like, in case of capture or--”

“Torture?” Alfred practically spat. Dick recalculated his chances of cookies to ‘not this year.’

“I mean, the Geneva Convention doesn’t actually--”

“I don’t give a damn what a bunch of idiots in Geneva consider to be torture or not!”

Maybe Dick could learn how to bake cookies himself.

Bruce consoled Alfred that they wouldn’t use such extreme training measures, and after a sharp glare Dick agreed that it had been a hasty idea that didn’t merit consideration. Alfred went on vacation the next month anyhow, so it didn’t matter.

A month later was the first time Dick felt the true sensation of drowning.

Tear soaked and coughing, Dick had told him that it was fine, and he’d made sure they did the simulation enough times that he’d be prepared. He practiced relaxing by muscle group, twitching and fighting less and less.

Bruce had gone easy on him.

Vasily’s men were easy to convince, Dick counted along with the warm remembered baritone, letting first his arms then his legs relax in a feigned loss of control. They pulled off early, and he came up coughing and sputtering and crying like he’d really been drowned, but when he had no information by the fifth time, Vasily himself took over.

“Sometimes it won’t work,” Bruce rumbled from somewhere in his memory, “Some people won’t be in it to get information or keep you conscious, and you’ll have to realize where the distinction is, and when to use the last reserves you’ve got to fight yourself free.”

Blackness slipped around the edges as Dick pulled on his restraints, feeling the skin on his wrist tear as he tried to use the blood to make the ropes slippery, tried to overturn the chair to break it, tried to--

The world swam into focus as Dick vomited water, heaving painful ragged sobbing breaths around the bile and water. He had no idea how long he’d been out. Was Bruce still being interviewed on television? Was Batman on the streets yet? Was he even in the right city?

“Who is he?!” Vasily screamed into his face, getting close enough that Dick could see the ugly grayed out brown of his eyes.

Dick headbutted him, sending him reeling back and gripping at his nose. It was a good, bleeding strike, but he didn't think he’d broken it. Pity.

“You’re going to pay for that you little shit.” Vasily growled, snatching the wet towel from a tray.

“Batman isn’t real, you’re just a superstitious moron too dumb to know the difference.” Dick shouted through the cloth as Vasily placed it almost gently.

“I may be a moron, but it’s better than being a corpse.” Vasily’s laugh was ominous as the door opened in the background. “This one isn’t useful, you boys have fun, I’m going to see if any of the other brats has information.” Dick heard two sets of footfalls wander in front of him, so he threw his weight against the chair, knocking it backward, but it got caught by the unheard third man.

“D-D-Dios Mio…” One man whispered reverently as the chair settled back on its feet.

“Okay boys,” A familiar baritone growl came from just over his shoulder, “Let’s have _fun_

Dick’s bindings came free during the fighting, and by the time Dick got the cloth off his face, the two he’d heard enter had been knocked out and were being tied up in the corner. He ripped the towel and wrapped a strip around his bloody wrist, studying the Batsuit that had rescued him.

A lot of things were right, the voice, the height, the size-- even the armor looked authentic-- but the man in front of him wasn’t Batman. Everything was too neat, the men too quickly taken out, the ropes… cauterised… too fast. Dick ran a thumb against the melted edges of the rope, staring suspiciously at the perfect facsimile of Batman.

If he weren’t Robin, he’d probably believe it, honestly.

“Are you okay?” The fake asked, turning to check on him.

“What the hell are you supposed to be, a black devil?” Dick huffed, holding his fingers up to his head to mimic the horns in much the same way he’d seen people refer to Batman.

“I’m Batman.” The man said, confusion evident on the visible part of his face. Dick had a lot of practice reading the emotions of a mouth and chin.

“Batman isn’t real, so who are you?” Dick casually backed behind the chair.

“I’m here to save you, Richard, I’m Batman.” He repeated again.

“If you were Batman, if Batman were real and you were him, you’d be looking for the other kids Vasily mentioned when he left, and you wouldn’t be bothering with one rich kid.” Dick huffed.

“Dick… I’m Batman.”

“Yeah right, look dude--”

“Bruce Wayne said he needed a tiger tamer at the old capitol building.” The man cut him off, irritation and desperation clear in the way the suit moved, in the thin press of his lips.

_Superman?_

“Look, that’s _super_ , man, but there are kids here who need help, Vasily is planning on selling them tomorrow which means they’ll be moving to the pier for movement tonight.” Dick sized up the man ahead of him, the same size as Bruce, square jawed, used to moving with a cape on his back, able to cut a rope using heat, fast.

“I’ll save them after I get you out.” Super… Batman told him.

“Nope, someone has to make sure you don’t electrocute yourself while trying to get a Batarang.”

“That wasn’t so funny that you had to open comms to laugh,” the Superbat huffed, holding his hand unnecessarily up to his ear.

Dick would have laughed himself, but he was trying to check on his bandage without drawing attention to it. He walked to the sink by the door and pulled out a length of paper towel to blow his nose, ignoring the argument behind him. From what he could gather, Clark was against the idea, Alfred was doing that thing where he didn’t answer either direction, and Bruce wanted Dick to ensure the safety of the suit. The most important part of the argument, though, was that it took all of Clark’s attention and, despite his superior hearing, he didn’t notice when Dick slipped out the door and padded barefoot down the hall to find Vasily’s kids.

***

“Did you ask him if he was injured? He knows better than to lie about that, so it’s your best bet other than x-raying him.” Bruce was being far too calm about the waterboarding of his ward.

“No, I figured--” Clark turned to talk to Dick, finding instead an empty room. The power went down at that moment, the low buzzing completely cut from the building as the lights clicked off.

“He disappeared on you, didn’t he.” Bruce’s voice wasn’t questioning in the slightest.

“Look I’ll talk to you about this later.” Clark huffed, scanning through the walls to figure out where Dick had gone and who had decided to darken the building.

“Find the rest of the kids and you’ll find him.” Bruce had been of the opinion that it was going to be nearly impossible to stop Dick from helping from the beginning, and Clark was beginning to see why.

Without answering, Clark walked into the hall and listened, calming his mind to sort through the chatter he usually filtered out. In the far wing, a sub-basement below this one, he heard the nervous heartbeats of at least six adolescents, and made his way toward them.

“(Shit shit shit the Bat we’re fucked, I told Bircan that we didn’t need this kind of attention, we should have stuck to car stripping, shit.)”

The whispered Turkish alerted Clark to the presence of a sentry even before he saw the flash of light as the man lit a cigarette. Using the darkness in a way he’d never thought to before, Clark snuck up on the man so that when he turned to nervously pace the other direction, he nearly walked directly into the Batman who worried him so much.

When it became clear that a small squeaking noise like the air being let out of a balloon was the only reaction he was going to get, Clark reached up and took the cigarette from the man’s mouth, holding it between them to illuminate the space.

“(How many other sentries?)” He asked the man, the Turkish flowing uncomfortable but confident off his tongue.

“(Just me and one other before the room, you take the first right and the third left.)”

“Ask him about the entrances and exits.” Bruce piped over the comm, because of course he knew Turkish.

“(How many ways out are there?)” Clark asked, careful to keep the growl going.

“(I don’t know, they don’t let us in, only Vasily and guests, I’ve never been assigned to that door so I don’t know, _I don’t_ )” The man begged, terror evident in every abortive escape plan he jerked toward before he stopped and forced himself to make eye contact with the cowl.

“(Run, and if you don’t raise the alarm, you get one more chance before jail.)” Clark growled, extinguishing the cigarette.

“You should have tied him up, insurance if he lied.” Bruce huffed.

“It’s impossible to lie to someone who can hear your heartbeat and see the dilation of your pupils in the pitch black.” Clark replied before he started tracking down the hall. Bruce actually opened the comm to snort in response. Clark rolled his eyes and let Bruce believe that he was as unreadable as he clearly thought.

The sentry at the next door was easy to knock out before he noticed the black presence in the darkened hallways. He glanced through the door, seeing a few armed men gathered mostly near the middle of the room, with a few more ducking behind old office furniture along the walls. The man who must be Vasily was near the rear, behind a group of cages, three across and two high, nearly all full. One open cage sat at the top, just waiting for Richard Grayson.

Clark felt the anger burn behind his eyes as he checked over the children. One boy and four girls, all between the ages of six and fourteen, were tucked into steel kennels designed for large breed dogs. They seemed more or less uninjured-- a small miracle-- but they were clearly terrified. Clark closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath before he pushed the locked door open, a bit too pleased with the sound of the metal crossbar tearing and snapping.

“I have been waiting for you, Mister Bat.” Vasily announced as a battery powered spotlight hit Clark.

“Illusions of grandeur?” Bruce asked over the comm.

“I’d say the same if you were important enough to be of note.” Clark snorted the way Bruce had, “I had to search half the city to find anyone who’d even heard of you.” Methodically, Clark began melting the springs in the trigger mechanisms of the weapons pointed at him while behind the cages, Vasily sputtered with rage.

“I found where your ridiculous bat shaped weapons are made, I found where your friends live, I--”

“And what? These are my friends? A group of terrified Gotham children?” Clark gestured to the crates.

“No, no, these aren’t friends, these are insurance. Tonight the Batman dies, or these five do.” Vasily laughed, grabbing the hair of one of the girls on the top and yanking her head against the bars. He had a knife in his other hand and pressed it against her neck.

“This ordeal or whatever, it’s between us,” Clark reasoned, “You don’t have to--”

“Now!” Vasily shouted, followed by the rapid clicking of guns that won’t fire. The girl who Vasily was holding pulled his knife arm further into the cage and bit down hard where his thumb joined his wrist, and the men in the middle of the room seemed torn between rushing Batman, helping Vasily, or fleeing.

A very familiar laugh echoed through the chaos as a small figure jumped down from a ceiling tile then, quick as the Flash, ducked up under Clark’s cape before grabbing onto his belt hard. A small pop exploded into the middle of the room and suddenly the whole place was white smoke, blinding in the glow of the spotlight. WIthout warning, Clark was shoved forward and two of Vasily’s men were tied together with a batrope, thrown expertly by the apparition in his cape.

At Robin’s urging, Clark sped through the cloud, using batcuffs and batropes to secure the men. When he reached the back of the room, he was unsurprised to find that someone had smashed Vasily’s head against the cages, leaving him unconscious on the floor.

“Let’s get you out of there,” Dick smiled at the youngest girl, barely seven, as he used a key ring to open the lock on her cage. Clark swallowed hard; he’d been ready for the men’s fear, the criminals were meant to be scared, but he wasn’t sure how to get the kids out of the building without scaring them worse than Vasily’s gang had. He figured maybe he’d have Dick lead them away while he waited for the police, or-- thin arms clamped around his hips like a vice as the girl smashed into him, having barreled over two tied up criminals to get to him.

“Thank you Batman, Thank you, I _knew_ you’d come I just knew it!” She babbled into his waist.

That was unexpected.

As was the low beep of an explosive charge setting when Dick got the second cage door unlocked.


	6. Chapter 6

There were too many keys, so many that Dick had to match the brands to the padlocks and try each on the locks. The keys were so frustratingly numerous and small and slippery in his still numb hands that he almost hadn’t heard it, the small _snap_ click _beep_ of the remote detonator.

Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades though, and since he _had_ heard it, and had arguably years more training than the man in the Batsuit, he knew what to do. Assuming Clark didn’t move.

“Stay!” He yelled, leaping over Vasily’s prone form, rolling over his hands and back onto his feet with just enough space to spare as he narrowly avoided the first freed girl and grabbed the air where the belt should have been.

Should have been.

The Batman facsimile was instead prying the device out from between the cages, using strength he shouldn’t have had and probably destroying a pair of high tech gauntlets whose computing power was well and above that of any personal computer the country bumpkin had ever touched before. Sitting completely out of reach on the belt was the local signal jammer, which would stop the device from…

The ground rumbled as a building in Gotham fell.

Tears of frustration marred Dick’s vision as the man in the Batsuit freed the rest of the children, earning looks that were more wary and less trusting as he snapped the padlocks easily with his hands. 

Once the tears started, Dick found that they were getting increasingly hard to stop, and someone in the room was wheezing-- didn’t they know how to control their breathing? The wheezing was too loud in the space, and the tears were blocking his vision, and it was _hot_ when had it gotten so hot, and why was it so hard to breathe, and why--

“Robin I need you to calm down.” Bruce’s voice cut through the haze, coming from the headset that he hadn’t even noticed Clark placing on his ear. He was alone in the room and hadn’t noticed anyone moving; even Clark was gone.

“I’m sorry Batman.” Dick hiccupped, gritting his teeth when he heard how watery and miserable his voice was.

“None of this is your fault.” Bruce’s tone left no room for argument, but Dick knew he was wrong.

“This is exactly my fault, I got taken from the bus, I didn’t check the cages for booby traps, I didn’t have my belt and oh god what if it was a _tenement_?!” The panic ramped back up as Dick imagined hundreds of people trapped under the remains of their own homes.

“Dick, Dick, stop. It was an uninhabited building, offices and empty space, breathe, I need you to calm down.”

“I wanna come home.” Dick ignored the sound of his own voice, ignored the echoes of the room, ignored the police calling clear 3 rooms down as they kicked open another door.

“You have to let the police save you, let the police question you, I’ll be there, and I have a thermos of cocoa and a change of clothes ready for you.” Bruce’s voice came calming over the headset. The mention of clothes made him shiver a little.

“Bring my sweatshirt.” He sniffed, ready to toss the small headset when the police arrived.

“It’s already packed.”

“Good.”

###

Chief Gordon had met Bruce Wayne’s adopted son before, hell, the kid had the most obvious case of puppy love for Barbara that Jim had ever seen. Yes, Jim knew Dick Grayson, but the shadow of a child sitting miserably on a desk in an abandoned office almost didn’t look like him, barely looked like him at all. Weighing on the small end already, in a bloodstained shirt that was at least two sizes too big for him, the kid looked like a skeleton. 

He didn’t seem to have so much as flinched when the door broke down, but when the officer with the battering ram shouted-- and Jim was going to have to have _words_ with him about that-- for identification, he simply raised his head, fixed the most Wayne expression that Jim had ever seen onto his face, and scoffed.

“The door was unlocked.” He sniffed, dragging an arm across his eyes, in no way hiding the tears.

“I asked who you--”

“Shut up man, that’s Richard Grayson.” Harvey cut the officer off, pushing his way into the room, “Go be useful and get a trauma blanket or something.”

Gordon sent the team to clear the rest of the floor and took off his jacket instead of waiting for a trauma blanket, draping it over his shoulders and flipping the collar up to keep Dick’s neck warm.

“This is uncomfortably familiar.” Gordon huffed, pulling out his pipe and wishing for the ease and taste of a cigarette.

“From the Circus or the Theater?” Dick asked, speaking mostly into his knees, having drawn his feet up onto the desk almost immediately after the jacket covered him.

“Yeah.” Gordon agreed, relieved that the EMTs entered then, ready to take Dick away from the office that for some reason required large, stacked dog kennels like those in research labs. He shuddered and wished he’d waited for the blanket as his jacket left with Dick. Instead he busied himself by hunting down Harvey for a status report.

###

Clark wasn’t even sure what he was doing as he changed into his normal clothes, the disguise that allowed him to have an everyday life. As the glasses settled on his nose he felt even less like himself than he had in the bat cowl, like the lenses were somehow magnifying his farce for outside scrutiny. He shook off the feeling as he double checked that he’d replaced the suit properly before rushing out of the cave, barely avoiding being drenched by the waterfall at the exit by merit of speed. 

He still wasn’t sure what he was doing even as he skidded to a stop in an alley a few blocks from the police station, shrugging on his jacket and satchel as an afterthought.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are but-- Oh! Mr. Wayne! Viki Vale from the Gotham Ga--” The woman stopped with a growl as a door snapped shut, “Damn it, you have to let me in there, you can’t keep the press out, what’s your badge number?”

Press. Clark could blend in with the press, he could blend in with the rest of them behind the barricade… or he knew that the commissioner’s office was on the eighth floor and the building next to him was only ten stories tall. He flew to the top of the building and set to scouring the floors below him, searching for a meeting he was hoping wasn’t on the ground floor. 

Just as he was about to give up and try another side of the building he spotted Robin in a well-oversized jacket using a computer that was certainly not meant for him in an office whose window had considerably more wear to the sill than the others. When the elevator door chimed softly in the hall, Robin closed out the windows he was using and darted to a chair in the corner, pulling the oversized jacket over his likewise ill-fitted clothing with a grimace.

“Here he is, he’s got to be checked out in medical before he can change clothes, but I’ll give you a moment before we tackle that.” The commissioner said, reaching for the door. 

Bruce stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you, Jim. For everything.” He whispered, his voice hardly reverberating at all in the long, empty hallway.

“Just get in there,” Gordon grumbled, blushing uncomfortably as he pulled open the door.

“Bruce!” Dick sprang up and hardly touched the floor as he ran and wrapped his arms around Bruce’s midsection, winding him and probably aggravating his already wounded ribs. For his part though, Bruce hardly seemed to notice, sighing happily as he pulled the boy more fully against his chest.

“You’re alright?” He asked into Dick’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” the reply came after a thoughtful moment.

“Then let’s get this procedural stuff out of the way and eat some cheeseburgers greasy enough to make Alfred scowl.” Bruce offered, planting the boy on the ground again.

“That sounds good.” Dick smiled for the first time since Clark had seen him in the chair and something tight and unpleasant loosened in his middle. He felt silly then, crouched on the roof of a random Gotham building, and there was certainly news to be written back home. He didn’t look back to see if his presence or departure had been noticed, but he felt already like he’d intruded too far into the real lives of the Gotham Bats, best to let everyone regroup and start fresh later.

Besides, what could happen in just one night?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale of this part! I'm going to take an announced break from this series until I can figure out how to get the 'getting together' back on track.
> 
> Thank you again to TheLiterator for the beta, and thank you to everyone who reads and especially everyone who leaves comments!

“This is not the headline I sent you. This isn’t the story I sent you! This is drivel, it’s… it's clickbait on paper!” Clark focused on not crushing the phone in his hand as he read the headline again.

Batman to blame in recent Gotham explosion?

“Clark, you sent me an exposé on a group of Batman hunters, and the guy you pinned as the leader was found dead in his cell this morning, _conveniently_ before he admitted to anything. He was found unconscious at the crime scene, booked late last night, and found dead this morning. We can’t run your story, it’s speculative and possibly defamation of a deceased man.”

“Wait, Vasily is dead?” Clark stopped, stunned.

“I have the coroner's report on my desk right now.” Perry deadpanned. “How about instead of harassing me on the phone, you head over to Gotham and talk to the GCPD.” 

Clark’s phone pinged as Perry disconnected the call. Perry White had never grasped the nuances of phone etiquette, clearly, as he usually simply barked an order in place of a greeting and often hung up as soon as his piece was said. Clark carefully set the phone down and breathed a few times, centering himself.

Ping!

Clark abruptly sat half lotus and breathed, ignoring the phone for a moment as he calmed down from the flashpoint rage at Perry. He reflected that he really hadn’t been using his meditation techniques as much as he could, cringing at the memory of the tiny terrified children he tore loose of the cages. They had been calm, happy even, but then he lost his temper and ripped the bars open, and none of them trusted him.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

He picked up the phone and checked the text message, somehow unsurprised to see Oliver Queen listed on the lock screen.

Oliver Queen (GROUP): Welcome back party for my favorite little bird, be there at 6 for food!

Clark was weighing asking what kind of party it would be-- a Green Arrow party or an Oliver Queen ordeal-- when his phone pinged again.

UNKNOWN (GROUP): I thought I was your favorite little bird?

This was going to be the text message alert string that never ended, he could tell.

Barry Allen (GROUP): We wouldn’t miss it!

UNKNOWN (GROUP): I’m in the living room why did you text me?

UNKNOWN (GROUP): The next person who hits reply all will have to buy a new phone. Send the message in a different text string, or call the host. I don’t have time for this.

The last message couldn’t have sounded more like Batman if it had been a recorded voice message. Clark made up his mind to go to the party, decided first to try and get some sound bites from the GCPD, then turned the alerts off on his phone before taking a shower. He took his time getting ready, making sure his hair wasn’t at risk of curling out unexpectedly, repacking his work satchel to make the most effective use of the space, he even used the motel room’s iron to take out the few wrinkles that folding his shirt had caused. As he grabbed his wallet and phone from the dresser to leave he checked the text message string again.

Oliver Queen (GROUP): R.I.P. phone, see you all at the party tonight! :D:D

With a rueful sigh, Clark set out to be a mild mannered, somewhat clumsy reporter in the wide dangerous city of Gotham.

###

“If you’re not up to it I can tell Oliver no.” Bruce reminded the boy who was currently sitting far more patiently for Alfred’s ministrations over his stitches than Bruce ever had. 

“Gonna text him on his brand new paperweight?” Dick asked, wincing barely as the astringent swab prodded a sore place.

“He wants me to destroy his phone so he has an excuse to get a new one.” Bruce huffed, knowing the man too well, “I paid off every chinese food place within delivery distance to refuse his orders for a month.”

“And made his battery overheat to destroy his phone.” Alfred added, _helpfully_.

“Otherwise no one would take the next threat seriously.” Bruce snorted. “I’ll just text Speedy and let him know we’ll be there.”

Dick perked up at the mention of his friend, and was still brighter as Bruce walked away. He was glad to see Dick smiling, but the sight of the neat line of stitches still made him grit his teeth. Alfred and Dr. Thompkins had done every kind of test conceivable to ensure that no diseases or infection had been contracted, and no foreign materials like a tracker or explosive had been left behind in the jagged cut. 

While Alfred had been dealing with Dick earlier, Bruce had escaped, against Doctor’s orders, finding nothing of real use at either the explosion site, or the holding facility that the victim children had been taken to. When he visited the youth center they were being held at while their parents were located, some had seemed wary until he explained that a super friend of his had been helping. When one little girl pointed out that he had stubble now that he hadn’t had a few hours before, all of the children got considerably more excited, pushing forward to ask him a thousand questions at once, at rapid-fire speeds that press release reporters wished they could attain. He had reassured them that he would answer two questions each and give them their very own (blunted, plastic) batarangs if they answered some hard questions he had first. Then, the real investigation was underway.

For as much as Vasily and his men had tried to make the site look like a human trafficking ring, most of the children had been taken that day, and some had been more high-profile, kids who were missed from families who had picked them up earlier in the day. A cute, button-nosed girl who Bruce recognized from the foster system piped up, “Last time dad went to jail for the drugs, we got picked up by that racket down by the docks, with the hat guy? This wasn’t like that, it’s like they didn’t even want to have us around but they needed us to make ‘em look legit.” Her little brother tried hushing her, looking at the other kids with trepidation as she admitted out loud to having been snatched by the Mad Hatter. Bruce felt his teeth grinding even now as the other kids accepted it as just another wacky Gotham thing. The bay has a floating ice palace, and sometimes you get brainwashed into being in a cult of blonde girls named Alice.

Feeling a thousand years old, Bruce gingerly sank into his chair, unwilling to risk the jarring motion of a full collapse into the worn leather. He fished out his phone to see a picture message from Roy, showing Oliver smiling, pretending to order a pizza on his black, smoking phone. He snorted and shook his head, sending the message that the guest of honor was still feeling up to attending, then he decided a nap sounded incredible, but maybe he’d turn the heat on in his chair to loosen his back muscles and finish some paperwork first.

He kicked back the recline, grabbed a paper file to re-read, and was asleep in under five minutes.

###

The police had given Clark _nothing_.

Somehow they were even more non-communicative than usual, closing ranks against the possibility of an internal affairs investigation into the death of a prisoner under their care. Even though Clark understood why they were doing it, he was still frustrated at being stymied.

“Clarkie you old news hound!” Oliver shouted as he entered, firmly solidifying the party as undercover civilian Oliver Queen's.

“Gosh, Mr. Queen, thanks so much for the invitation,” he bumbled, scanning the empty foyer.

“Nah I’m just messing with you, man; come on in, food’s in the kitchen, back here you can see Roy get his ass kicked at Mario Kart in glorious 4k,” Oliver made a sweeping motion to the far end of the massive main room where a TV that had to be at least 70 inches proclaimed Princess Peach as the winner of the most recent race, making a redheaded boy cheer. “Over here is news and coffee and… more food.” Oliver looked with confusion at the large serving tray on the wet bar.

“I got tired of going back and forth,” Barry admitted sheepishly, holding another plate, “Pinwheel?”

Clark laughed and took one, watching the boys’ game for a few minutes before returning to the more somber side of the room. “I’ve never met Kid Flash,” He hazarded a conversation topic.

“You didn’t seem that keen on proteges.” Barry shrugged.

“They’ve got their merit,” He amended his position, ignoring Oliver’s incredulous look.

“Guys we need to watch channel 52, apparently something is happening!” Roy vaulted the back of the couch followed by a more carefully moving Dick who was being somewhat mother-henned by the redhead.

Bruce had the remote-- of course, for control-- and turned the channel over. Clark looked up just in time to see the channel come into focus and stopped.

“What’s on his face?” the redhead asked, and no one answered.

They were blue… starfish? Did starfish have eyes on their backs? Was it radiation? 

The blue whatever they were writhed on the faces of the newscasters who sat perfectly still. One blinked its enormous red eye and the text at the bottom of the screen changed suddenly: STARRO COMMANDS US.

The message repeated over and over, and the pulsing starfish blinked in absolute silence over the air. Flash was already gone, and Bruce was holding a set of keys distractedly to Dick.

“Get to the cave.”

When Bruce looked at Clark he paused for a moment then shook his head, “You can get them there faster.”

“I'll take them now.” Clark agreed, glad that he'd carried multiple people before.

“Man this always happens when I have fun gatherings.” Oliver huffed, opening a hidden wall cavity to reveal an impressive arsenal of arrows. “Let's go kick some ass.”


End file.
